Sitting in exile, looking in the mirror
in the next room, she lies
to me, I want to see sunshine
I want to feel rain
but all I see is shadows
and mud
Speaking with angels can be a lonely pursuit
First there is the finding of them
then there is the translation to
here and now, that place I am
Then I go back to her
and tell her what I see
there is, in her eyes a fog
and that fog is me
Perhaps today that cloud will angry up itself
Grow dark with moisture
and flash
so brightly that everyone will see
remarking at its brilliance
they will hold ears ready
for what boom may be
She says
you are my sunshine, you are my rain
nothing more, nothing else
will be
to me, I want to see sunshine
I want to feel rain
but all I see is shadows
and mud
Speaking with angels can be a lonely pursuit
First there is the finding of them
then there is the translation to
here and now, that place I am
Then I go back to her
and tell her what I see
there is, in her eyes a fog
and that fog is me
Perhaps today that cloud will angry up itself
Grow dark with moisture
and flash
so brightly that everyone will see
remarking at its brilliance
they will hold ears ready
for what boom may be
She says
you are my sunshine, you are my rain
nothing more, nothing else
will be
©Frank Coughlin May 2011
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